A turning point in my life

INDEX

It was quit balmy for a mid-December Thursday afternoon in Lebanon, Ohio and having never been able to keep a secret, I decided to give my soon to be 2 year old daughter, Kelly Allise, her Christmas gift early, so that we might be able to enjoy the nice weather. I went into the garage and returned with a small Radio Flyer red wagon that I had bought just days before.

At the time I was involved in racing go-karts on the FKE circuit, and often, when working in the garage, I would come inside and get Kelly and put her in one of the carts. I had one cart that I raced on the road circuits that had a Yamaha 250cc TDY 1A two cylinder motorcycle engine on it and had a full body covering, so when I put her in that one, she was comfortable and could not get out to get dirty, which seemed to be the only drawback my wife Sandra had to my taking Kelly to the garage. Kelly seemed to like the seat in the road course cart, and I would often find her chatting to the steering wheel, and I just had that feeling that my daughter liked things with wheels the same way that I did, so the little red wagon seemed to be the next logical step.

Back inside the house, Sandra watched with a fake scowl as she saw me giving Kelly her Christmas present early. I continued, putting on her small pink coat and a matching pink ‘granny' hat, tied the laces on her shoes and picked her up and placed her in the little red wagon, and headed down the driveway for a lap or two around the neighborhood. As I reached the bottom of the driveway, it was not comfortable to bend over so far in the wagon, so I took her back up to the garage and attached a short length of clothesline rope to the end of the handle so that I could walk upright as I pulled her around the street.

We were pretty far out in the country, in a suburban neighborhood, but the streets lacked sidewalks so were carefully working the edge of the road as we headed towards the cul-de-sac at the end of the road. As we traversed the road, facing minimal oncoming traffic, I was proudly displaying my progeny to all that cared to look at the cute little girl in the little red wagon. It was late afternoon, so there were not many folks on the road or in their yards, but that did little to diminish the pride I felt as I accompanied my first child. No one knew of the difficulty that her mother had experienced in bringing her into the world, and as we completed our short trip, I was glad to see her mother peering out the living room widow and delighted to see that she was smiling from ear to ear, as I knew all too well what she had endured in the recent months.

Once inside, we found a nice home cooked dinner on the table, and setting Kelly in her high chair, we both sat down to eat. The conversation quickly turned to a discussion about what we were going to buy first for our new home. We had just finalized the paperwork for a 12 acre farm in nearby Hamilton, Ohio that had an old (15) room two story farm house, a small (4) room two story house about 30 yards away, and most importantly, a 900 square foot garage that I fully intended to turn into a shop for my racing equipment.

I had begun building a custom car with a steel tube frame and a fiberglass body that was powered by a small block Chevy motor, positioned behind the driver. It was far enough along that it was on wheels, but the current garage still did not have enough room to get much work done without scratching the paint or hitting your elbow on something. This new location was going to provid a much needed increase in space.

We were both excited about the possibilities of our new location, even though it had some drawbacks. The steam heating system was able to keep the house quite warm, but there were some leaks and repairs to be made, and the worst part about that was the fact that the house was quite old and had no formal basement, only a very small dirt dug out area where the utilities were placed, and we had already noticed an accumulation of dead rat carcasses and assorted droppings from who knows what. None the less, we were both very excited about the upcoming move, and the ideas were flowing fast and furiously.

We had just finished a good old country dinner of ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, followed by home made cherry pie. Sandra was a very good cook, having learned a great deal at an early age from her mother. She was eight and a half months pregnant with what we hoped would be our second child, so I went about clearing the table and getting ready to wash the dishes. We continued talking about how nice the day had been and how different it was from the last time she had baked a cherry pie.

About two years previously, while just over eight months pregnant with Kelly, we had returned from grocery shopping and she had made an excellent dinner that had included cherry pie. While I put up the groceries, we chatted about having just made the offer to buy the house in the country, and were hoping that the people would accept our offer. At that time she was experiencing some problems with her pregnancy, and I was keeping an eye on her for symptoms of discomfort. It was very important to me to not have her over extend herself, as she had been having a great deal of trouble during several pregnancies and had multiple issues regarding a condition known as abruptio placentae, the premature separation of the placenta from the walls of her uterus, that resulted in her discharging a huge amount of blood in a very short time always resulting in a terrible mess, an abrupt trip to the hospital, and a discouraging cleanup when I returned.

We were talking and I had turned to her, expecting to see a smile on her face, but I instantly knew what had occurred. I had seen it often before, but it never became routine. It always made me feel a terrible pain in my own heart to see my wife go thru this when it occurred, as she was very intent in having a family, and this occurrence always took its toll on her emotionally as well as physically. She was standing, looking at her feet. Her legs, shoes and both feet were covered in blood, and the look on I saw on her face still haunts me. I had seen it too many times, and knew what to do.

This had happened seven or eight times before, and I had long ago converted our van into a semi-ambulance, complete with a palate on the floor with a pillow, a box to hold her legs elevated slightly.

The hospital knew us by name, and after calling the emergency room to give notice of our impending arrival, I headed out of our subdivision and onto the highway headed for town. We had to go thru seven traffic lights, and if I could get the sequence right, I could catch them all at 55 miles per hour, with the exception of the one located at a major cross roads. Several months previous, I had been successful in getting the county to adjust the timing on that one light to make it easier for us to continue thru the entire set of traffic lights. I will always be grateful to those folks.

The ride to the hospital was never ending and it was made in silence. We had learned long ago that while this condition only occurred in about one percent of pregnancies, it generally resulted in fetal mortality in about forty percent of the occurrences, and it was not unusual to lose the mother as well. We had experienced variations of these possibilities in earlier pregnancies. We had experienced one early miscarriage and two mid term miscarriages. Another pregnancy went almost full term, only to have the baby stillborn. We decided to have a funeral for the little girl. All our babies were girls.

However, this was going to be a very different situation than any of the others. The ride to the hospital was quiet as usual, but upon arrival it was discovered that Sandy had lost consciousness. They rushed her into the emergency room amid a lot of commotion, and I tried to follow, only to be made to sit off to one side of the emergency room. These hospital visits had become a drag, but I sensed that this was something different, and it was becoming very hard to control my anxiety as I noticed more activity and glances in my direction. All at once a nurse came in with Sandy 's doctor, and he told me to sit down. The good news was that he was prepping for a similar surgery of some sort with another lady, and had a good operating crew already assembled and anesthesiologist at the ready and our doctor was, of course, familiar with Sandy's condition and needs. The bad news was that there was an issue with blood and or oxygen sharing and that I was going to have to give him instructions as to how to make a determination in the event that they both were unable to survive. He was asking me to determine which of my loved ones was to live.

Wow, I thought. Twenty five minutes ago, I was eating cherry pie! As I was expecting the onslaught of panic and confusion, I was suddenly experiencing a warmth and calmness that I had not felt before. I had not been officially ‘saved' at that point, but it was unmistakable as to what was occurring, and it was greatly appreciated. The doctor gave me a limit of two minutes to decide, because time was of the essence. I took the full two minutes and as soon as he reappeared, I gave him my answer.

It seemed to take forever! My chest was bursting. My head was spinning, I had a terrible headache and I felt that I was sleeping with my eyes open, but I remember not leaving my chair for entire four hour operation. I soon became aware of footsteps in the hall, and I knew he was coming to see me. I was not sure that I wanted to talk to him, but knew that I had to. I got out of my chair and stood facing the door, having no idea how my life was about to be transformed. The doctor looked exhausted, but the look on his face was not what I was expecting to see. He had no smile, but his eyes told me all I wanted to know. He was obviously exhausted, and seemed not wanting or able to speak, and as he drew close, he merely gave me a slight smile, and with his left hand held up two fingers and with his right hand gave me the thumbs up. He had saved them both. I was so emotional I was shaking, at which point he spoke, simply telling me to go home and some one will call me in the morning.

I remember going thru all the traffic lights on the way to the hospital, but had to stop at all the lights on the way home. I did not get upset, and gave thanks at each stoplight.

In the morning, I called the hospital and they told me I could come in and visit them both. They were both in intensive care, but they both were alive! I gave thanks the best I could! It was a week later, but I brought them both home, and life was good once again.

This time when I turned towards her, I saw that smile that I was expecting and more, as she was laughing at all the cherry pie that Kelly had managed to get all over her face and clothes. All was right with the world. Sandy and Kelly went into the living room and got down on the floor, resting on a lavender flowered comforter that we had place in front of the fireplace. I continued to put up the dishes and clean the kitchen while being able to keep an eye on them, while they laughed and played with each other, as we had an elevated see thru fireplace that was about a foot off the floor and I could look thru from the kitchen into the living room and enjoy their mutual pleasure.

When the work in the kitchen was completed, I joined them at the edge of the fire. I added a few logs, stoked a few ashes and fell to the floor between them, as Sandy had rolled back providing a place for me between them. I quickly scooped up my daughter and pulled her close to me as Sandy snuggled up to me from behind. We laughed and played for over an hour like that, each of us enjoying what I came to learn was the essence of love, forming an eternal bond between mortals, and leaving a deeply etched memory in each of us. It will be interesting to compare notes. In the years since, it has been a rare occasion for me to form such a bond with any other person, but as I continue to do so, it signals to me that the impending reunions are drawing near.

I tucked Kelly into her bed and returned to Sandy at fire's side, where we talked and chatted about how happy we were, and how we were going to finish the last of the moving and cleaning chores at our new home in the morning. We had already moved all the large items, both in the house and in the garage, leaving only a few clothes and assorted small items. It would be Saturday and she would take Kelly and go to Hamilton and get started with some light cleaning and I would begin to unpack when I arrived after lunch as I had to work alternate Saturday mornings at the office, and tomorrow was my turn.

I kissed Sandy as I left for work, and bent down to take Kelly in my arms for a moment before heading out the door, expecting it to be another uneventful and boring Saturday morning in the steel fabricating business. As I drove, I was dreaming of the way I could lay out the tools in my shop, and where we could put the garden and sandbox for our outside endeavors, as I passed thru all but the last stop light that had become so familiar to me.

Upon arriving at work, I began to schedule the days work sequence that started with a tour of the shop to inspect the projects that were underway and record their progress and determine what would be required in the weeks ahead to complete them in a timely manner. On Saturdays, we were not required to wear a tie, and I loved to be in the shop instead of my office, so I was actually not too unhappy to be there. As I was walking back towards the office, my name came over the intercom asking me to come to the front desk as I had a visitor.

I was startled to see an Ohio State Highway Pat rolman, and the look on his face was not helping the situation, and as I approached, he asked me to step outside. This was even more perplexing as I was expecting a parking ticket issue regarding my wife or an expired tag or something of that nature, but I could tell from his pained expression that it more serious than that, and as his voice continued, my world came to a sudden halt. He said he was sorry to be the one that had to tell me this, but there had been an auto accident and asked if I owned a blue and white Rambler, and I replied that I did, to which he responded that he had been advised that he needed to take me to the Kettering Memorial Hospital in Dayton, Ohio.

Another silent ride, but this time I was not doing the driving. He said he was not at liberty to describe the situation and that the details would be provided to me upon arrival at the hospital, and it was one fucking, piss-poor hellava drive, I can tell you that! My brain was becoming unable to decipher all the possibilities of what I might expect to hear when I got there. Obviously it was going to be something serious, as he did not want me to be driving, and I came to learn that they did not want me to be listening to any news reports on the radio.

As I learned when I got to the hospital, there had been a very horrible accident, and that my wife had died on the way to the hospital and that they were unable to sustain the life of our baby that she was carrying. I never saw either of them again. Our daughter had sustained life threatening injuries, and I asked to see her immediately. The way the nurse looked at the doctor sent chills thru my entire body, and it seemed hard to make my feet move even though I was asked only to follow him. We went thru a door marked intensive care and went straight to the rear of that room and into a smaller room. It smelled very badly in there, and as I looked around, there was only one bed and it appeared to have a pile of laundry on it, and the doctor nodded his head indicating it was Kelly.

Her head appeared to be swollen, completely bandaged with the exception of one eye, and it was closed. Thank God! I remember being terrified that she would look at me and ask me to help her. It was the most helplessness I have ever experienced. Both her arms were extended, bandaged and covered, and there was a blanket over her chest, but I could tell it covered some injuries and a series of wires extended out from around the edges and lead to a number of oscilloscopes and linear graph-like machines that seemed to be quietly exchanging information so as to not disturb her. The doctor slowly moved over to where I was standing and began to explain the bulky looking area below her waist. He said they were unable, at this point, to ascertain where all her bones were from the waist down as she had been very badly disfigured and that they had literally tied a small bag around her waist to gather her ‘parts' until it could be determined how or when reconstruction could begin.

Three hours ago, I had been laughing and holding each of them in my arms, and now this! It was beginning to get hard to breathe and for the first time I was feeling a little bit out of control as to how I should be handling this situation, and what the next step should be. I quietly walked to the phone in a waiting room and called my parents and told them what had happened, but it was a terrible few moments before I could muster the courage to call her parents in Richmond , Kentucky . What would I say? How would I begin to explain to them what had happened to their daughter and their grand daughter? I thought….. could I get someone else to do it? Couldn't I just walk backwards long enough for all of this to start over and end in a different manner?

Suddenly, I realized that it had to be me. I didn't want anyone else involved. This was my family, so it was my responsibility. I, very slowly, and with great trepidation, got up from the couch and approached the phone on the wall, while all the while trying to formulate the way I was going to broach the subject and continue the conversation to tell them the bad news.

They arrived that afternoon. We jointly made the arrangements as to internment procedure and location, all of us agreeing that Sandy and the baby she was carrying would be buried in the same cemetery, next to Michelle Andrea, the little girl that came very close to surviving. Sandy and the little girl she was carrying were buried in the same coffin, and laid to rest right next to Michelle. The little one was unnamed as I thought it inappropriate to name her without consulting with my wife, and agreeing on a name that suited the both of us. On several occasions I have regretted not naming her, but still could not pick a name by myself for some reason. I'm sure she has a name somewhere.

Returning to the hospital, I had to face another difficult decision, what would be the future for Kelly, what would serve her best interests? Both of Sandy 's parents, as well as my own folks expressed their desire to allow me to make the decision without question or interference. After long, very long conversations with the several doctors and Clergy, and after much introspection and my interpretation of prayer, (I was naively expecting a written sign of some sort, or something loud and easy to interpret) I decide to discontinue the assorted forms of life support. She was declared brain dead, her lower extremities and organs from the waist down were seemingly not repairable, and her chest cavity had been crushed. It was unbearable to utter the words that directed the doctor's next move, and the doctors and nurses faces reflected my emotions as they silently turned to begin the procedures required to comply with my decision.

To this day, no decision has appeared to be as difficult or time consuming to make.

Three days later a small group of family members met at the same cemetery and Kelly was laid to rest next to her mother and two sisters. About 16 or 17 years later, I stopped on the way to a race in Michigan , but was unable to locate their graves. I have never been back.

Leaving the services that Friday afternoon, I traveled to what would have been our new home and for some reason parked next to the garage, rather than the house, and went inside. Scanning the array of tools and equipment that had been recently moved into position, I noticed the little red wagon sitting atop a box of car parts, but could not bring myself to touch it. I just leaned up against the side of the car, staring at the wagon, contemplating the wisdom of my decision and growing extremely exhausted. Looking for a place to rest, I opened the passenger door of the car that I had been building, and settled into the hard, un-upholstered seat, still being able to gaze at the wagon from inside the car.

I fell asleep quite quickly I suppose, but soon awoke, and feeling hungrier that I had been for quite awhile, I got out of the car, went outside and got into our pickup. I drove into my new home town looking for a restaurant so that I might get a good home cooked meal. It seemed unusual that many were closed, but I finally found one that looked promising and pulled in, parked and walked inside and sat at the counter. The waitress quickly approached and spoke, asking what I wanted to drink and asked for my order. After telling her that I was really hungry for a home cooked meal, she replied that I had indeed come to the right place as they not only served the best home cooked food on that side of Hamilton , Ohio , they were the only one open on Sunday.

On Sunday? Are you sure! I got up from the stool and went outside to look at the newspaper stand, and sure enough, there was one paper left in the front and it was indeed a Sunday paper. I had slept all the way thru Saturday.

And so it began, the rest of my life. I began by starting to put the things away that we had brought to the farm earlier, only to be stalled, frustrated and tormented each time I opened a box with something that belonged to one of them, each time having to decide what to do with each item. Keep it to remember, or toss it to forget? My greatest salvation was working in the shop, arranging the equipment, mounting the tools to pegboards in order of their size, and patching the holes in the walls. I missed the commitment, I missed the feedback, and I craved the interaction. I desperately needed to have things in order. I was willing to work hard to achieve that in some manner.

Eventually, each time I entered the shop, I could take a quick look around and instantly know that all was in order. Everything in the shop was still there, nothing had been taken from me. It was small consolation, but consolation none the less. My attitude and approach to life was transforming, taking shape and gathering speed and momentum. It was becoming clear the direction I was going to take.

One night, long after dark, after a particularly physical day, I had the notion to actually put my direction onto paper, figuring that if I could organize my thoughts clear enough to commit it to paper, I could be assured that it was attainable.

I made three lists. One list was of the items that I had been told I was good at, one list itemized the items that I thought I was good at, and the third list gathered the things that I knew I enjoyed doing. Making a fourth list that included only those things that were on all three of the other lists, it became apparent that I was destined to be involved in an occupation that required mental gymnastics, manual dexterity, physical endeavors and some form of competition that required following some form of guidelines. I had determined that I liked having either rules or competition, or both, so that I was able to make a determination as to how I ‘stacked up' when the project was completed. My experiences and the resulting fourth list was making it clear that I was destined to be in some form of automobile building or, better yet, racing.

It wasn't long after that decision, that I felt compelled to make as strong an effort as I possibly could to be involved in an endeavor that was as competitive as possible in as large of a venue as I could find. I wanted to go where the water was deep.

Up to this point in time, I had stunk in football and basketball, but had set or tied high school track records, won many local cart races and championships, and competed nationally with road racing carts, all leaving me comfortable with my mechanical abilities, but I knew I wanted more difficult endeavors. It was during this period of time I began making some telephone calls, and eventually talked to a crew chief of a small Indy 500 race team to give me a chance to work for him, getting ready for the upcoming race.

Howard Milliken aka ‘Tilt' for his slanted gait as a result of an old sprint car accident, gave me a chance to work on the Two Jacks Special Team, preparing cars for Jigger Sirois and Rick Muther. It was 1970, and Muther's car was the last turbine powered car to attempt qualifying at Indy.

I left the house after packing my clothes, and headed towards the shop to gather what I considered essential tools for my first racing job. I took a small box and loaded the assorted items, and as I turned towards the door to leave, the last thing I saw as I turned out the light was the little red wagon that I had mounted to the wall in the shop. I imagined that it preferred being alone in the darkness.